Tag Archives: byre

The worst of farmhouses is that they always smell so of cows, remarked a young townsman to me, with an air of critical tolerance, as if he might be disposed to consider them more seriously if only the objectionable odour … Continue reading →

Willie comes down in the dark mornings, hardly waits to swallow his porridge before he runs away in the direction of the byres, calling the name of his big brother. “Ooie. Ooie. Where are you? Are you in t’low byre … Continue reading →

A week ago, I had the privilege of hearing Sir Robert Greig speaking at a conference of women’s institute delegates and members in the north of England. In giving illustrations of the human tendency to laziness of mind to repeating … Continue reading →

Dairying is a dirty business and our dairy is rather small for all it must hold. We always wear clogs there. I do not know what we should do without them when the floor is so wet and dirty; and … Continue reading →

An article in Country Life last week recalled to my mind the wooden bowls I have seen used in farm kitchens in my childhood. There was the meal-bowl placed on the wide hob every morning and evening, from which the … Continue reading →

(Brown eyes or Hugh Shanks, my Great Uncle, would have been around 10 years of age when this was written. He did become a farmer and farmed most of his life down in Sussex. I still have many happy memories … Continue reading →

This morning we had two new assistants in the byre. Two small barrows, as nearly alike as possible, were bought last week and their owners — Brown eyes and Blue Eyes —-felt that it was quite time they began business … Continue reading →